The machine with a heart
by bethanie-xo
Summary: Based off of a prompt, the prompt has been changed a bit but it was, mostly, the first three paragraphs!:3 Sorry for the sometimes short chapters, enjoy the reading.
1. Chapter 1

'_Girl found in house, dead. We need you here. Now, identity un-known so far.-SD'_

He got the text at 8 am, it was far too early in Lestrade's opinion. Greg groaned, hoping it was just a simple case, and wouldn't require Sherlock's input, after all he was busy searching for Victoria, who'd been missing for 6 weeks now. There were posters all over England, Mycroft was furious that he couldn't find her. Greg arrived at the scene, greeting people and dismissing the press before making his way up stairs. There, there in the bed was his god- daughter, Victoria, 16 year old Victoria Watson-Holmes. He stood back, mind reeling, how would he tell Sherlock this? John? Hamish? Hamish was only 7.

"Leave her there for the moment. I need to think." He said stepping outside, he nodded people away and got into his police car, driving in a daze to 221B, knocking frantically on the door once he'd arrived.

John shuffled to the door, already dressed in his jumper and jeans, he pulled it open and smiled, "Greg!" he exclaimed as he saw the man, "It's half 8, why are you here?" he asked.

"They found her." Was all he could say. He thought back to what he saw, to exactly how she was laying on the bed in the dark room.

"They did?" he voice was hopeful until he saw the look in Greg's eyes. "She's not..." he trailed off and Greg gave a slight nod.

"I'm sorry." He said, he put his arm out and placed it on John shoulder. "I have to get back, I'll keep you updated." He promised, he turned around but stopped when John spoke again.

"Keep Anderson off forensics."

"I can't, he's already working it." Greg said, he moved forward and got into the police car and just before getting in turned around to say, "He wouldn't jeaprodise his whole career just because he doesn't like you too." And with that he sped off into the London streets.

John closed the door and just stood there, seemingly unable to do anything except stare. His daughter was dead, Sherlock would be so upset._ What if he went back to drugs? What will we say to Hamish, he an Victoria were so close? How will he react?_ All these questions and more whizzed round Johns mind before a voice broke his trance.

"John!" It shouted from the bedroom, their bedroom. Sherlock would have just woken up but John still knew that he would find out something was wrong, he was always good at deductions, no matter how tired.

"Mmm?" he murmured as he walked in, avoiding eye contact and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his previous worry of where his shirt was, was all but forgotten.

"Nothing, why should something be up?" he replied, his voice betraying him and cracking slightly.

"John, don't try to hide things, you can't do it with normal people and you definitely can't do it with me." He sat beside John and placed a hand on his back, ignoring the fact that he was dressed in only a sheet, and started tracing circles into John's neck with his thumb. "What's wrong?"

"Sherlock..." he whispered, as he expected his voice had completely betrayed him, his throat was clogged and he couldn't utter another word. He leaned to the side and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's bony neck.

"John?" he asked, panic in his voice as he took in the state of the other man; he was wrecked.

"Victoria." He whispered, it was barely audible but instantly Sherlock knew what was going on.

He breathed deeply, "Dead?" he asked, John gave only a movement of his head, yes.

Sherlock placed his free hand on Johns head, letting his sheet drop to only cover his legs and low belly. He couldn't do anything except sit and wait for John to say something. But he didn't, neither of them did. Not for half an hour until Johns head suddenly popped up and he faced Sherlock.

"What do we say to Hamish?" he asked, his eyes were worried and he was biting his lip as he thought about his son, "We still have one child." He said, indicating only slightly to Sherlock's history and the fact that John and Hamish both would need him, as he would need them.

"Tell him." He replied simply. He stood up and dropped the sheet when he got to the ward robe; he got dressed in his usual clothes. Smart, black trousers, a purple shirt, and a black jacket. He walked back over to John and took his hand, pulling him into a standing position and looking down through his fluffy hair, "Together. We tell him together." They walked to the door and into the living room where Hamish was already sat reading a book, he hadn't heard the conversation earlier, thank God.

"Dad!" Hamish said when he saw Sherlock walk in, "Papa!" he exclaimed when John followed on. They both smiled and sat down on the sofa, where Hamish jumped in between them, his exuberance almost instantly cheering up both John and Sherlock, only by a fraction, "What are we doing today? Are we putting up more posters?" he said. Every weekend for the past six weeks Sherlock, John and Hamish all went around London and stuck up posters with the word 'Missing' on top, Victoria's pictures in the centre and contact details at the bottom. Hamish was close to Victoria so he loved doing this, he just hated why he was doing it.

Sherlock looked at his son and ruffled his dark hair, "About that." Hamish's face instantly dropped, a question hanging on his lips. "They've found her." Sherlock said quietly, he looked at John for help and Hamish's gaze followed his. His small mouth was puckered in an 'O' shape and his eyes were wide and the brown seemed to make him even more helpless.

John just looked down at him and sighed, "She's dead." He whispered. There was no sweeter way to say it, Hamish had inherited Sherlock's intelligence so any other way of telling his would seem patronising, well to him it would.

Hamish dropped his head and stared at the floor. His breathing sped up and he leaned into the couch. From his body movements John could only assume that he was crying so, as Sherlock did with him earlier, he placed a hand on Hamish's back and traced circles into his neck.

John and Sherlock exchanged glances as their son just sat their crying. It was nearly midday before any of them spoke again and it still seemed too early.

"Will you find them? Whoever did it?" Hamish says, his eyes don't move from the spot that they had been placed on for fifteen minutes but his face turns into a frown.

"Of course I will." Sherlock smiles and Johns head snapped up, he shook his head just enough so that Sherlock would see but Hamish wouldn't. They hadn't been on a case in about 18 years. Not since Sherlock jumped, John never trusted Sherlock to do murders after that. He desperately wanted the murderer found but he didn't want Sherlock to do it. "Of course." He hugged Hamish to his side. "In fact, I'll start now." He grins.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mycroft. I need your help; you know the comings and goings of everyone, who went into that house? You must know by now that they found her.-SH_

Sherlock, going against all natural instinct, texted Mycroft for help and the reply was immediate.

_I am sorry, Sherlock. I looked at all the footage from that house and I have a match. His name is Daniel Patrick and I have my men out getting him now.-MH_

_It wasn't your fault. If you find him I need to speak to him.-SH_

Mycroft could feel the threat through the phone and he frowned, all ready to say no when another text came '_Please, she was my daughter.-SH' _How could he say no. He frowned and agreed. He then thought about his niece, and his nephew. He remembered the first time that he'd ever babysat for the two. Hamish was turning 3 and he was already smart, Victoria, 12 at the time, was the only one who could control Hamish. She was the only one he would play with, the only one he would tell anything to. Now he'd lost her what would happen?

He sighed and relaxed into his chair, waiting for the text to say that they'd got him.

Sherlock looked back at Hamish, "I've got uncle Myc on it." He said, he always called him 'Myc' in front of Hamish because Hamish called him Myc.

John smiled at him but the worry was nibbling away at his mind. He'd already lost Victoria, what if he lost Sherlock? "Let's go out?" he suggested. He didn't want to be cramped at home all day with this pain looming over him, with memories of Victoria in the house.

Hamish got up and ran to his bedroom to get changed; he couldn't be round all the memories either, not now. Sherlock walked up to John and wrapped his arms around him, "Thank you." He sighed, "For getting us out." He swayed slightly and looked down on John, kissing his forehead. "It's just, I knew it'd happen but it being put into words is hard for me."

"I know." John crooned.

"Can we go to the park?" Hamish's voice came from the door way as he leaned into the room and watched his dads.

John pulled Sherlock by the hand and took Hamish in the other hand. "Of course." He forced a smile on his face as he walked out of the room, passing the photo of Victoria on the walls his eyes were immediately drawn to it. It was on her birthday when she was 15. Her light hair hung down and she was smiling as she leaned into the camera, trying to push it away. He smiled at it and opened the door.

When they got to the park Hamish instantly ran to the swing. It was a cold day so not many people were there, except a couple of teenagers, and everything in the park was free. "Push me!" he shouted when he was seated. He may have been tall for his age but his feet barely reached the floor and his legs, although swinging frantically, did nothing of any use.

Sherlock chuckled and walked over, pulling John behind him. He pulled the swing back and pushed it forward, making it swing high. He smiled to John, a thankful expression in his soft eyes. John grinned back and he looked down at his son and then to the love of his life. "Can I have a go?" he asks after 5 minutes of watching. He walked over and pushed Sherlock lightly, smiling as he moved.

"You better push me higher than dad!" he laughed as he held on, squealing at the height that he already had.

"Obviously, I'm so much better at this than Sherlock!" he grinned at Sherlock and winked happily.

Sherlock smiled back and pulled his phone out, it vibrated just before they'd finished the hour walk it took to get here.

_Got him.-MH_

_Where?-SH_

Sherlock's reply was instant, and Mycrofts came back even faster.

_The old warehouse out in the field by my house, you know the one?-MH_

_On my way.-SH_

Sherlock looked up from his phone and went to stand in front of Hamish, close enough to see him but not close enough to get kicked. "I'm going to see Myc, he's found the guy." Hamish's eyes lit up.

"Can I come?"

"No." Johns reply to Hamish was instant, almost a reflex to keep him out of trouble. "I'm sure your dad can hold the fort." He smiled at Sherlock who began to walk over to him. "Give him hell." He whispered as they hugged.

"Would I do anything else?" he laughed lightly and looked at Hamish who was swinging and humming to himself. "Be good for papa." He said, smiling at the old nickname that had been coined by Victoria. "I'll be at home later, I'll text him when I'm on my way." He smiled and began to walk away.

"Love you!" Hamish shouted. John smiled as Sherlock walked away and he went back to pushing Hamish.

As Sherlock walked he could hear the faint squeals and he knew that John must be pushing him too high. He shook his head and smiled.

_Sherlock, promise me one thing?-MH_

_What?-SH_

_Don't let him get away with it.-MH_

_I won't. She was my daughter, I can't.-SH_

Sherlock hailed a taxi and sat in the back, ignoring his phone, he knew it would be Mycroft saying something stupid like 'good' or another sorry. He arrived where Mycroft had told him to go to and saw a sleek, black car out the front; he was definitely in the right place.

He walked inside and the dim glow of bulbs only illuminated about 3 doors on the other wall, the roof was high and Mycroft sat reading a newspaper on a chair outside the first door. He looked up when Sherlock walked in.

"Third door. Sherlock?" He said, placing his eyes back on the paper.

"Hmm?" he walked to the door and placed his hand on the handle.

"Don't hold back." Was all he said, showing no emotion on his face.

He smiled as he stepped into the room, saying nothing, as he blocked the rest of the world to face the man who murdered his daughter.

"So, Daniel, do you know why you're here?" he asked. He saw a table with a chair on either side of it, the far chair had a man sitting in it, cleanly shaven and a mocking smile secured to his face. Next to the chair closest to Sherlock was a box, a box that was secured and most likely filled with weapons, not that he'd need them.

"Yes. That girl I murdered." Was all he said, he cocked his head to look at Sherlock. "You must be a loving family member?" he questioned.

"I'm her father." He said, letting the words hang in the air as he looked through the box, pulling out an assortment of guns and knives, watching the other man try to hide the fear in his eyes.

"Oh. Sherlock Holmes? I would offer you my hand but..." He trailed off and tugged his arms, bringing attention to the rope that secured his hands and legs to the chair, Sherlock mentally thanks Mycroft.

"I wouldn't shake it." He sneered. He pulled out a gun and grinned as he cocked it and placed it on the table in front of him. "So, you murdered her?" he said, stating the obvious. Daniel nodded happily and Sherlock continued, "What else did you do? You had her for six weeks."

"You don't want to know." He grinned, "Your innocent little daughter wasn't so innocent after 6 weeks." He laughed, if this was the end of his life then why not have a little bit of fun?

"What do you mean?" he said, he narrowed his eyes and placed his hand, palm down, on the table leaning forward.

"You know, she was a virgin." He grinned.

Sherlock pushed the table out of the way and stood in front of Daniel. "Don't you dare say that about my daughter!" He shouted.

"And why shouldn't I? It was true, in the end she was a dirty slu..." He was cut off by Sherlock's face colliding with the side of his face, a cut opened up and blood trickled down his cheek. He laughed again at Sherlock. "I wondered how long it's take to get a reaction." He said.

"Don't say that about my daughter." He repeated. "She never wanted it."

"Oh, but she did. In the beginning she craved me. I say in the beginning, when the craving was satisfied she usually complained," he imitated her voice as a man usually does with a girls, silly and high pitched, "'Oww, the chains are hurting.' 'Dan, I don't want to do this.' 'Let me go home?' In the end it got rather tedious. I didn't mean to kill her." He shrugged as best he could, the rope was pretty tight, he could hardly move.

"How can you not _mean_ to kill someone?" he spat the words out and glared at Daniel.

"Well, she complained a bit too much, I pushed her and she fell to the floor quite hard. I put her on the bed and dressed her appropriately." He sneered. "Wouldn't want daddy seeing her for what she really was." Sherlock's fist smashed against his nose and he heard a satisfying crunch. Broken nose.

At that moment Sherlock's phone vibrated, _Well be at home, stay safe. I love you.-JW x_

He put it back in his pocket and thought of John, of what he would want Sherlock to do. _Hurt him._ That was what John would want. He looked again at Daniel, broken bleeding nose and a cut on his left cheek.

"Do you feel honestly happy with what you've done? My nine year old son lost a sister and I lost a child." He shouted, he was sure Mycroft could hear him but he didn't care. He walked over to where he'd pushed the table, only a little while away, and perched on the edge of it; Waiting for a reply that he knew he wouldn't get. He stood up again after about 3 minutes and his fist hit against Daniels face again, "Answer me!" he screamed. Sherlock kicked the table across the room, it hit the wall and the old wood broke down with a deafening bang. "What's to stop me from killing you?" He said, his voice patient, putting more of a threat in the words. He was faintly aware of blood on his top but he couldn't be bothered to check fully.

"You won't kill me. I know it." He smirked. "I was going to keep her, you know as a pet or something." His breathing cut off by a sharp punch in the stomach, winding him and temporarily making it impossible for him to speak.

Sherlock leaned in close to his face. "If you know one thing about me, just one thing then know this; I don't take pleasure in killing people. Not unless they harm my family." He pulled his head away and found a previously discarded knife. He rested the sharp point on his thumb and started twisting it.

"You know, Sherlock," he wheezed. "We're quite alike. I threatened her with a knife too." He smiled, if these were his last seconds he might as well make it worthwhile.

"You _threatened _her?" He shouted.

"Of course," his breathing patterns were returning to normal, "Do you think she'd let me have sex with her and not try to leave?"

The sudden hatred that filled Sherlock was enough fuel to beat a man to death. He went over to Daniel and punched him, the tears of the hidden grief and guilt finally flowing down his face, long overdue. He punched and screamed as blood splattered on his previously pristine, white top. His last move was to kick the chair over. He then sat with his back leaning against the wall. He watched the last breath escape this man's body and just sat there in silence.


	3. Chapter 3

The feel of a hand on Sherlock's shoulder made him jump. He doesn't know how long he'd been sitting there but he bet it was for quite some time. He looked into the eyes of his brother and sighed. "Get up. Go home." Mycroft commanded.

"I just killed a man." Was all he could say. He was no stranger to it but it felt weird; to kill a man with his bare hands, to be so filled with hatred that there is no other option.

"He did worse to Vicky." He said, he pulled Sherlock up and hugged him awkwardly for a second before pulling away. "Forget what he just said, forget everything." Mycroft said, pushing him lightly towards the door.

"How?" he whispered to himself. His blood covered shirt was sure to attract attention so he got in Mycrofts car and said "Take me home." Anthea nodded and the car started moving while she texted beside Sherlock.

He got into Baker Street and walked into his bed room. It was ten o'clock so Hamish was in bed and John was reading in their room.

"Sherlock?" he said, he stood up when he saw the man, shaking violently and covered in blood. "Jesus, what happened, you're covered in blood!"

Sherlock looked down and for the first time he noticed the extent of which it had sunk into his white top. "Oh." He frowned and pulled his clothes off. He threw them across the room and stood in his boxers, shaking. "Better?" he asked.

John pushed him to the bed and wrapped him in sheets, he then took a seat and pulled Sherlock's head onto his neck. Sherlock lay there in Johns arms inhaling his deep scent.

"What happened?" John said after at least half an hour, "Why were you covered in blood?" he stared at the pile of clothes and then looked at Sherlock, his face seemed peaceful but he was obviously upset about something. "Please?" he said when he got no reply.

Sherlock, not moving his eyes from the wall whispered three words, "He raped her." They got caught in his throat as he said them, he choked on the harsh words. John inhaled deeply. And Sherlock spoke again. "He had to pay, I couldn't—couldn't let him get away."

"Forget about it." He whispered, "She was our little girl, think of her as that?"

"I can't you should've heard what he was saying. The terrible things. Even Mycroft told me to forget it but I can't." He said, his eyes were glazed over.

"What did he say?" Johns voice was a whisper.

"Everything." He nuzzled deeper into John, closer to his warm body. "I can't repeat it. Ask Mycroft." He said, his breathing slowed but he was nowhere near being able to sleep.

_Mycroft, what did he say? Sherlock is a mess.-JW_

_He said too much. Sherlock couldn't handle it. He said that your daughter /was/ innocent. That she was so pretty, so young. That she protested and shouted. That he ruined her, she was still a virgin. I'm sorry, John.-MH_

_No wonder he's like this. He got what he deserved?-JW_

_Yes.-MH_

John hugged Sherlock even closer to him.

_John, don't let him near drugs, he'll be at his most vulnerable.-MH_

_I won't.-JW_

"I killed him. Out of hatred. I'm not better than _him._" He frowned. "I'm not better than him." He closed his eyes against Johns chest and hugged even tighter.

"You did what was right. Thank you." He squeezed Sherlock for reassurance.

Sherlock pulled away and stood up, rolling temporarily on the balls of his feet. He got dressed in clean clothes, much like his previous ones and spoke whilst doing so. "I need to get out, I need to clear my head." He said. He shook it as if that would help.

"No," John stood up and held onto the sleeve of Sherlock's top, "Stay? Please?"

"I can't. Not now."

"Please?"

"John." He said, he leaned down and kissed the man but continued to speak. "I can't be here, not right now.

"Mycroft made me promise, don't go near any drugs? Not just for him or for me. For Hamish." He said quietly.

"John, I need to get out." He said, he kissed John again and made his way to the door.

"No. Promise me?" His eyes were wide and he sighed in exasperation.

"Okay." He opened the door, "I love you." And with that he was stood in the corridor. He walked down it and out the front door.

Once he was out, once he could feel the air in his lungs he began to walk, he turned left and just started, not quite knowing where his feet were taking him until he was there. He stood and looked up at the house, he'd noticed cameras following him for the majority of his fifteen minute walk but this was the one place that Mycroft couldn't see. It worked perfectly for the purpose because if you hadn't been told about it then you wouldn't know it was there.

He knew people would be after him so he might as well get this bit done quickly. He hesitated for a minute thinking of John, of the promise that he'd made. He thought of his son, of his own Hamish and he looked at the floor, deliberating leaving. He was just about to step away and walk when he thought of Victoria, his little girl, and all the terrible things she was made to do. His eyes welled and he remembered why he was there, to forget. He stepped in to the house and up the crooked stairs. He knew this drug den was still in operation so he knocked on the door.

"Come in." A voice said, Sherlock stepped in and looked at the girl sitting on a mattress, an assortment of bags in front of her. She grinned at Sherlock. "It's been a while; they all come crawling back though." She leaned back, "It's been a slow night of sales, what do you want?"

Sherlock hesitated, "The usual. You still remember?" he said as he pulled some money out from his wallet and stepped forward.

"Of course I do, I still have the last lot which you never came to pick up." She frowned and walked over to a broken chest of drawers. She pulled one drawer open and kicked it when it didn't work; she yanked again and finally threw a bag at Sherlock. "Usual price, I _know_ you still remember."

He handed her the money and shoved the bag of small needles in his pocket. "Thank you, Lisa." He said before walking to the door. Lisa's voice stopped him from walking out.

"What happened this time?" She asked; curiosity in her voice. "It's been about 20 years, what happened?" she had been quite close to Sherlock, she had known more about him than most other and he trusted her.

"My daughter," his voice was slow and cracked. "she was raped, and murdered. I spoke to the murderer and _hated _what he said." He frowned and stepped out, smiling slightly at the girl before standing at the top of the stairs. _Where to go now?_ He thought. He just decided to go somewhere, anywhere. He knew all the place that Mycroft couldn't see, the closest was ten minutes away.

He walked out of the house and the cold air rushing into his face, then lights switched on and almost blinded him, he staggered out of the direct light and frowned at the black car, _Crap. Mycroft._


	4. Chapter 4

He sighed and walked over to the car window, it rolled down slowly and sure enough it was Mycroft. _Fuck_.

"Give them here, Sherlock." He said, sticking his hand out of the window.

"I don't have anything." He said indignantly, shoving his hands in his pockets for extra protection to the bag so Mycroft couldn't see.

He sighed impatiently and pushed the door open. "Get in, don't argue." He said when he saw Sherlock's head shake. "Do you want me to call John?" Fear flashed in Sherlock's face and Mycroft knew he'd got him. He sat in the chair but kept his hands in his pockets, refusing point blank to give up what he had. "Sherlock. Give me them." He said sternly.

"Give you what?" He said, he pushed his shoulders up in a slightly defensive manner before continuing. "If you're here to scold me then don't even try it, I am not in the mood and I want to go." He said, he stared out of the window and watched as the car began to move, dragging the house out of his sight.

"I'm here to look after you." He said, he still held his hand out to Sherlock, "I'm giving you this opportunity before we get to Baker Street."

Sherlock scoffs and hits Mycrofts hand away, "I have nothing." He continues to glare out of the window.

"Fine, then I will tell John." He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. "_Check Sherlock's pockets when he gets in. He bought some._" He reads aloud as he types the message and sends it.

_How do you know?-JW _

_I saw him there, he came out and seemed relieved, I would be shocked if he's already taken a shot but I don't think he has.-MH_

_He said he wouldn't-JW_

_He says a lot of things. John, he needs you tonight, be there for him?-MH_

_Always.-JW_

John sits up on his bed at the sound of his phone; he hadn't gotten much sleep anyway so he welcomed the sound. He welcomed it until he read the text.

John went through to the kitchen and made himself some tea. He placed a cup out for himself and a cup for Sherlock and he sat down in the living room to read his book.

When the black car finally pulled up outside Baker Street neither of the men had uttered another word. Sherlock climbed out noiselessly and made his way to the door, not totally surprised that Mycroft followed him in. "Last chance." He says, "Do you want John to find them?"

Sherlock said nothing as he stepped inside, he had hiding places for things, he would just stop off there first.

Sherlock slammed the door in Mycrofts face and stepped up the stairs slowly and quietly. He walked into his room and found the loose floorboard that only he ever noticed, he pulled it up and dropped the bag in, still tightly sealed. He took off his coat and walked to the living room.

"Hey." He smiled at John, a weak smile, as he sat down.

"Mycroft text me." He said as he laid his book down and looked at Sherlock. "Told me that you'd bought some, you promised."

"No, I never promised, I simply said okay, acknowledging what you'd said. I don't have any, it's just him thinking he's correct."

"He said he saw you leaving the place where you used to buy it."

"He said he saw me leaving it, didn't say that I actually had some." Sherlock says, he extends his arms and his top rode up slightly, "Search me." He grins, trying to lighten the mood.

"This isn't funny, Sherlock." John said, his face sullen as he thought of all Sherlock's usual hiding places; he would search them as soon as possible.

"Sorry, I know." Sherlock sighed and walked over to sit beside John. He sat on the arms of his chair and draped his own arm casually over Johns neck, "I love you and I'm sorry." He said, nuzzling his hair into Johns fluffy locks.

"Just, think of Hamish." Was all John said as he looked across the room. He took hold of Sherlock hand and twisted at around casually, inspecting everything about it before entwining their fingers. "I love you too." He whispered, "Let's get some sleep?"

Sherlock stood up and, with their hands still entwined, pulled John with him to the bedroom. He yawned as he plonked down on the bed, pulling John next to him and kissing him.

Sherlock's purple shirt was the first thing to fly across the room, closely followed by Johns jumper and trousers. Sherlock pulled his own trousers off and they landed with a thud on the other side of the room. Their lips locked perfectly, like they were handcrafted to fit together like a puzzle piece. John rubbed his hands in Sherlock's hair as he made his lips travel down to the nape of Johns neck. He nuzzled there and began to kiss the skin, nipping occasionally. The dark hair was a tangle and John threw his head back, placing his hands on the bare skin of Sherlock's back, holding him there. If it were up to him, he would never let Sherlock go.

They woke up in the morning with the memories of last night flashing back in pieces. John was the first one to rise, he looked over at Sherlock who was sleeping with just a sheet covering his lower torso, held in place by his right hand as he snoozed peacefully. John smiled as he carefully eased himself up and put on his boxers. He grabbed a dressing gown and yawned before going into the kitchen, being careful not to wake Sherlock; which was hard, he almost tripped on a loose floorboard. _Hmm, have to fix that later, _He frowned as he walked out of the bedroom.

He lay on the sofa, the tv on mute just watching the faces on the news as they passed by in a daze, he read the bottom occasionally for all the major headlines until one popped up, _"Daughter of crime-solving duo found dead: That's one crime they couldn't solve." _He switched it off angrily and went to make himself a cup of tea. And he wrapped his dressing gown tight around himself to stop from falling apart. He read the back of the milk carton, just for something to do until he heard a big bang coming from his room. He dropped the carton and ran to the door, opening it and almost falling over Sherlock who, it seemed, had fallen over the loose floorboard.

John laughed at him and helped him up, brushing the dirt off of the sheet, which Sherlock held tightly around his front. _Shit, _Sherlock thought, _He's found them. _He panicked and stepped back, pushing the floorboard back into place before smiling at John, "Tea?" He asked.

"Okay..." John had a suspicious look on his face, "But I should sort out that floor board."

"I'll do it today, you have work." He smiled carefully at the other man as he held a hand to his back, leading like to the door.

"They said I can have a week off, family bereavement and all that." He sighed, he thought of the headline he'd just read and walked out of the bedroom door. Should he tell Sherlock, well he'll find out eventually.

"Good, but I'll fix the floorboard," he grins. It's a bit too big for this early in the morning and he can see the suspicion rising in Johns eyes.

"Why?" he says, "What have you got there?" he asks, he knows what Mycroft said could be true, he should look there as soon as he gets a chance. He frowned at Sherlock's next words.

"I feel useless around the house. You're the best with Hamish, you're the one who works. I _was_ good with Victoria but..." He trailed off and his smile faltered, just like he wanted it to. Would John fall for this act or would he still want to look? Sherlock kept it up until John spoke.

"Okay, you can fix it later on today." He smiles, he buries the suspicion and kisses Sherlock lightly. "I love you." He whispers.

"I love you too." Sherlock says, leaning his head on Johns shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.


	5. Chapter 5

"John, go. I'll fix the floorboard, seriously!" Sherlock exclaims, "I'll meet you and Hamish at the park later on today!" he pretends to push him out of the door with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Daddy!" Hamish shouted as he ran out of his room, he bumped straight into Sherlock and fell to the floor, his eyes wide with shock.

John ran to him and lifted him high into the air. "You okay big man?" He says, swirling around in the spot. Hamish's eyes go back to normal shape and he giggles.

"Are we going to the park?" he asks as John places him back on the floor.

"Yes, you and daddy are going. I'm meeting you there later." Sherlock says quickly, he then looks at John, who suspects something is going on, and smiles. "I'll see you later!"

"Hamish, go get dressed." John puts the boy down and he quickly runs to his bedroom. "Sherlock, we'll wait for you, honestly it's fine." John said quietly.

"No, you go and I'll meet you there!" He exclaimed, exasperation evident in his voice. He hugged John to stop him from talking.

Moments later Hamish ran out of his bedroom wearing a dark blue top and dark jeans. "Hamish, it's on backwards." Sherlock chuckles and twists Hamish's top around before lifting him up, "Now, you be good at the park." He says as he plants a kiss on Hamishs cheek. He hands the boy to John and smiles at them both. "Go!" He laughs as he pushes them to the door, a wide grin on his face. "I'll be there in an hour, at the most! I love you!" He shouts as they walk down the road.

He closes the door and sighs, leaning against it. After about five minutes he straightens up and moves swiftly to the bathroom to get the tool kit, he then almost runs to the bedroom.

The first thing he does after lifting the floorboard is pick up the bag of needles and put them in his pocket. He'd only loosened the screws before and they were still in the board so all he had to do was tighten them up and he was done. After doing this job he looked around the flat for any where that he could hide the bag. He could hollow out any books that John wouldn't read. There was one which he never touched so Sherlock decided to hollow out that and hid them there.

He did this quickly and within ten minutes was ready to leave.

'_On my way.-SH x' _he sent out as he wrapped his scarf around his neck and locked the door.

'_Will they be waiting for you?' _He received the reply quickly and it was definitely not what he expected. It had come from Johns number but it wasn't him.

'_What do you mean?-SH'_

'_I mean that they may not be at the park, they may be somewhere different. I would let John reply but he's a little tied up. And little Hamish isn't really in a state to text.'_

'_Where are you and why the hell do you have my family. Who are you?-SH'_

'_Haven't you figured it out yet? I said I'd stop John Watsons heart.'_

'_Moriarty. If you touch them then I will rip your throat out, personally.-SH'_

'_Oh, but I already got to your daughter, what's to stop me getting to your son?-JM'_

'_You didn't get to her, I killed the person who did.-SH'_

'_Do you really think I can't get a rapist out of prison and tell him who to get? You're slipping, Sherlock.-JM'_

'_If they aren't at the park then I will kill you.-SH'_

'_Well, I'm still deciding on something. What if they're at the park, just not breathing?-JM'_

'_If they are hurt in any way then you can guarantee that I will find you and kill you.-SH'_

'_You will try.-JM'_

'_No. I will.-SH'_

Sherlock shoved his phone in his pocket and walked faster, he was almost jogging to the park and he ignored his phone it vibrated once more. He knew it'd be Jim, teasing him.

He turned the corner and could see the park; his eyes frantically scanned it, the sings, the slide, the climbing frame. John and Hamish weren't there.

"John! Hamish!" He shouts frantically as he runs up to the climbing frame. He hears a distinct scream, it was Hamish. He runs in the direction of it, trees were everywhere and John and Hamish could be anywhere.

"Sherlock?" Johns voice shouted, from a completely different direction. He turned and looked around everywhere.

"They're not here." A slick Irish accent is heard from behind him.

"I heard them, they have to be here. Give them back to me." He says, his eyebrows furrowed and he turned on his heels to face Jim.

"Oh, Sherlock." He shook his head and faced the floor, "I can get recordings!" He says as he holds out his phone and presses a button. Hamish screams and John shouts. He plays it over and over again.

"Stop! I get your point." Sherlock said, exasperation and defeat deep in his voice. "What do you want?" He asks.

"Let's play a game." Jim raises his eyebrow and a wide grin spreads on his face.


	6. Chapter 6

"A game? You've already taken everything from me, what could you possibly want?" Sherlock shouted, anger filling his voice as it echoed in the trees around him.

Jim grinned and shoved his hands in his pocket, "Let's go for a walk." He chuckles and begins to walk, expecting Sherlock to follow.

He trudged along obediently and walked slowly behind Jim, "What do you want?"

"Hamish is a good kid, kind of like you. He looks like you and thinks like you. Too bad he wasn't enough like you to escape. You tried didn't you? Tried to make him know what to do in dire situations but it just wasn't enough was it?" he chuckled, he looked at Sherlock's face and knew that the taunting was getting him somewhere. "You just weren't a good enough dad." He shakes his head and a light laugh escapes his lips.

"Shut up, Hamish is perfect and I taught him well." He said defiantly, but he bit his lip, for he had always had that niggling doubt that maybe, just maybe he wasn't good enough. What he'd said to John earlier that day was true, he did feel useless around the house and he was good with Victoria but what use was that? He was a bad dad to Hamish, it only took the death of one person to put him back on the trail of drugs, ignoring his sons well-being completely.

"I mean, keeping drugs in a house with a 6 year old? Not a good idea." Jim showed the disgust on his face.

"He's 7. Hamish is 7." At least he knew that about his son. He realised then how little attention he'd paid to Hamish. Did he have any friends? Was he a good student? Sherlock didn't know and this hurt, more than anything.

"Oh, my bad." He jokes as he watches Sherlock. "I like this place, the swing is my favourite place, I believe Hamish likes it too, maybe he might want to join me in my criminal organisation." He chuckled and his eyes widened, "I might try to get him on my side."

"Don't you dare." Sherlock says quickly. "Don't even try it, he is my son. You've already taken Vic away. Please, don't."

"I think he'd make quite a good addition." He said, seemingly ignoring Sherlock's pleas. "He's young so I could train him well, he's easily influenced and he's the son of you, meaning he must have some brain."

"Enough brain to never join you." He sneered dolefully. "Where are they?" His voice was patient and low.

"What would be the fun in me telling you?" He sings cheerfully.

"Where are they?" He repeats, his voice low and gruff.

"Not telling." He grins cheekily.

Sherlock, suddenly enraged with fear and hatred, grabs Jims collar and lifts him slightly off the ground so they were face to face. "Tell me!" He shouts, command deep in his voice.

"You're no fun." Jim says slowly. "But, if you really want to know..." he deliberates for a moment and smiles at Sherlock.

"Tell me!" He repeats, his voice patient but just as commanding as he shook Jim.

"I nearly blew both you and Mr Watson sky high last time we were here. You remember, right?"

"The pool?" He thinks for a moment and then drops Jim, "Hamish can't swim!" He shouts as he steps away from Jim.

"We can go there if you want, we do still have the matter of that little game of ours." Jim grins and begins to walk away to a sleek, dark car, much like one of Mycrofts. Sherlock follows quickly and climbs in.

"I'm not playing a game, Jim. This is my life." He says impatiently as he taps his fingers against his knee. The car begins to roll smoothly away and Sherlock stares out of the window.

"I know this is your life, that just makes it even better." A mocking grin lights up his face and he turns his head slowly to face the window, keeping his fists clenched on his knees.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he sighed and looked out of the window, watching the raindrops patter against it and seeing which ones would reach the bottom first.

Jim stayed silent too, until the dark car stopped. "We're here." Jim says as he slides out of the car, not even checking to see if Sherlock was following.

Sherlock ran out of the taxi towards the door. He ripped it open and ran inside. "Hamish? John?" He shouts.

"Mmm." John is saying something against a gag as his eyes find Sherlock.

"John!" he runs over and rips the gag off of his partner and then he does the same thing to their son.

"Run!" John shouts, the sound fills the room and his fear is evident. "Run, Sherlock. Run!" He commands. Hamish's eyes are wide as he looked at his father but he says nothing, shocked into silence.

"Yes, Sherlock. Run. It would be so fun to shoot you in the back." The eerie Irish accent speaks from the door.

Sherlock stands up and turns on his heel to face Jim. "Let them go now, I'm here and this weird game of yours is with me, not them."

"I said I would stop John Watsons heart, this is how I'll do it. Killing you would be too easy, so I'll kill the two people you love." A wide grin broke out on the Irish man's face and it was too sweet to work with the words, making the threat all the more sinister.

"No. Take me, leave them. I'll do anything, absolutely anything, just don't kill them."

"Tell you what, Sherlock. Because I'm feeling in a merciful mood I'll give you the choice. You three alive and all your other friends dead, or you three dead and the others alive. By the others I mean Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, even poor little Molly. All of Hamish's friends will die instantly, but you three get away." He smiled again, but it faltered and a familiar glint in his eye showed his more evil side.

"No. Everyone lives. You can take me, torture me, do whatever you want to me, but everyone else lives." Sherlock says again.

"No, Sherlock, don't do this, don't die on me, not again." Johns voice in strangled and Sherlock turns quickly around to face him.

"I have to, John. You have to live, you and Hamish." He then looked to his son and smiled, "Stay brave, kiddo." He ruffled the childs hair and kissed his forehead lightly.

"No. Sherlock you won't die on me, not again!" John shouted, but Sherlock ignored him and stared at Moriarty.

"Torture me, tear me limb from limb, make me out to be a fraud again, do whatever you want but please, let them live."

"This is so very touching but no. You chose out of the two options from earlier, these two die, or the others die." A smirk on his face suggested a twist to whatever Sherlock chose.

He turned on his heels and looked again at John who opened his mouth to say something.

"Don't, listen to me, love. You're going to hate me for this, you'll shout and scream at me for this but it's to keep you safe." Sherlock leaned down and kissed John on the forehead, he then stepped in front of Hamish. "You have to be safe, for daddy. Be strong and look after him." Sherlock kissed Hamish's forehead and turned to Moriarty, not saying anything.

"You made your choice?" he said after a couple of minutes of silence.

"Yes, I choose neither of them. You think I would come here unarmed? Mycroft has all the British Secret Service out there and if you hurt either of them two then they have orders to kill you. The only one in this room that they won't kill you for is me." A smiled toyed on his emotions. "So come on, you want blood on your hands and to get out alive, shoot me." He whispered the last to words and tugged at his top, popping a couple of buttons to reveal the bare skin of his stomach, he pointed to the left of his belly button, "Right there."

"You think I came unarmed? I..."

"I knew you would come armed, the minute I found out we were coming here Mycroft found out, he took out everyone on of your little men except for one sniper. Oh, by the way, we didn't kill Moran, Mycroft has him for interrogation."

John stared, dumbfounded at Sherlock, unsure of what to say, he kept his mouth shut.

"You don't."

"We do.

"You won't hurt him."

"What makes you so sure?"

"If I shoot you then your brother will shoot him, you're trying to get me to shoot you."

"On the contrary. If you shoot me then you may get him back, Mycroft would want to keep me around so if you shoot me in the leg then say you'll kill me for good next time if you don't get Moran, then you'll get him back."

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John hissed, "Do you want to get killed?"

"John, not now. So, Moriarty, shoot me."

"Don't!" John began to move on the chair, trying desperately to untie his hands and feet, but to no avail, he was bound and the rope was killing his wrists.

Jim placed his gun on the floor in front of him, "I hurt you, you hurt Sebby. I let you go, you let Sebby go."

"That's not how this works! Bor..." Sherlock was cut off by a strangled noise and he fell to the ground, clutching his stomach, he was shot, exactly where he told Moriarty to shoot, but it wasn't him that shot, who could it be?

As he sat there, doubled over in pain he could see the Irish criminal retreat, he could hear John shouting and Hamish crying, He could smell and taste the rusty blood but he could feel nothing. The pain was tearing him up from inside, so much that it was all he felt.


	7. Chapter 7

"No!" John panicked desperately against the knots that tied his hand to his back, "Sherlock!" he screamed as he watched the man fall to the floor, blood seeping out of him.

"Wake up, Sherlock. Oh God, please. Wake up." I looked at his figure, his pale face illuminated in the hospital lights, it seemed so pale and serene and I hated it, even during near death he was perfect. "Your brother has Hamish, said he'd look after him while I stayed with you. I'll tell you what though, I know that you'll be annoyed for letting Mycroft have him but I'm kind of relieved. I don't want him seeing you like- like this. I don't want him seeing me like this. I love you and last time you died was bad enough, you left me alone with no explanation, but now you're leaving me with Hamish to look after, he already lost Vic and now he's losing you to."

I took a deep breath and fought the tears away before continuing, "I just don't want you gone again. Not again. I love you so much and your stupid experiments and ridiculous phrases. The way you know everything about everything except the solar system, it's not important enough for your brain. Your silly insults at crime scenes and the fights with Anderson. Oh, I'm going to miss those fights. The endless bickering between you, Sally and him. Greg having to step in like a parent. I'm going to miss that."

"I know that if you could hear me you'd say this is all meaningless crap and I shouldn't miss any of it because you're not dying but the doctors have already said that you are and I can't go against a Doctor, even though you did many times. I still remember the time you came in from a case and it had been raining, I was cradling Vic in my arms, she was still only a couple of months old, and you came in dripping wet. I told you to get changed but you just shushed me and went to your mind palace. 'Sherlock, you will get ill!' I kept on saying after Vic was in bed, 'I don't get ill, John.' You constantly replied. I spent the week playing nurse to you." I chuckled slightly through the tears taht were forming.

"In a way this is meaningless crap, it would be meaningless in your mind compared to everything in there. Compared to the deductions and the things you know, memories of your time with me would be meaningless. Sentiment, who needs it?" It was a half hearted attempt at trying to make myself seem stronger, I just seemed like an ass. "But that's not the point, what I'm trying to say is that you may be dead, and you may actually be buried this time and not coming back but I love you and you'll always be with me."

The chair I was sat in by his bed was rather large so I pulled by knees up and hugged them to my chest, trying to regain what was left of my sanity, "I love you." I repeated, over and over until my voice was hoarse and it hurt, until it was so quiet that I could barely hear it. I was openly crying by now and people walked by, peering in but they decided not to interrupt, it was better that way. Just him and me, like it had always been. He and I against the world.

"I won't let you go. People tried last time, they tried to get me over you but it never worked, they set me up on so many dates, tried to get me out of the house to go to clubs and bars to get over the death of my best friend, of course they didn't that all I needed to get over you was... well... you. But I won't, you know. I need you, Sherlock. I won't erase you from my life, I won't stop thinking about you, every thought that runs through my mind will be about you and there will be nothing you or anyone can do about it because I love you and this time you'll be actually dead. Mycroft made them make sure that it was definitely you, the tests they did were fully functional and it is definitely you and I already miss you."

"you're not even dead yet and I'm talking like you are, but with a week of you being unresponding the doctors decided it would be best to pull the plug, so we sorted out a time. 3 o'clock. It's in two hours. Hamish and Mycroft will be here at five two so I still have time with just you, 1 hour and 55 minutes. And counting."

"I don't want you to go, can't you just wake up, just for me? You didn't see me last time, when you—when you jumped. Ask anyone and they'll tell you I was a wreck. At least now I have Hamish. Our son. He has so much of you in him, Sherlock. He has your brain and your hair and he's just so much like you, he holds nothing of me and I wouldn't have him any other way. I guess today the world may be losing you but Hamish is still here so a part of you does live on. I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up and he said a consulting detective, you may hate this decision, he has so much potential to be one but after what happened to you I refuse to let that happen."

"He's smart Sherlock, he'll realise soon that it was your occupation that did this to you and he'll decide then and there that he doesn't care, he'll still be one, because it stops people from dying. Mycroft once said that you do care about things, that you have the brain of a philosopher yet elect to be a detective, he then said something about your heart and I realised that although you come off as a machine, you are a machine with a heart."

I sat there in silence until five to three, my mind was doing everything to try to will him awake but it wouldn't. So Mycroft arrived and Hamish did to. He instantly jumped into my arms and we watched as the monitor went from 'beep beep beep' to one long, droning beep. He hugged my neck and began sobbing softly and I didn't know what to do. I looked at Sherlock as I gripped my son, hugging hum close in reassurance.

"I love you." I whispered to Hamish, "And no-one is ever hurting you again."

And I thought about Sherlock. Yes, Sherlock was a machine, an emotionless robot. But, when all's said and done he was a machine with a heart and I loved him.


End file.
